


Dinner And A Show

by mrs_d



Category: Canadian 6 Degrees, Slings & Arrows, due South
Genre: Compare and Contrast, Crossover, Episode Related, Episode: s01e03 The Madness in Great Ones, Established Relationship, F/M, Fraser is up to something, Holly is the devil, M/M, POV Ray, POV Richard, Post-Series (due South), Ray will figure it out, Richard is naive, mention of internalized biphobia, minor homophobic language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-09 12:45:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6907834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_d/pseuds/mrs_d
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What Richard could not handle was Geoffrey Tennant, sitting calmly in a restaurant in Toronto, one table away from him, with his hair cut and neatened, eating escargot with his eyes locked on a man with spiky blonde hair and black-rimmed glasses who seemed to be his boyfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you to [DesireeArmfeldt](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DesireeArmfeldt) for taking the time to go through it with me and offer some amazing beta. 
> 
> This story was inspired by a simple question: What would happen if Fraser and Ray were in Toronto at the same time Richard and Holly were?
> 
> The story that grew from that question turned into the earliest long fic I've ever written. (It's been in my WIP folder for almost a year!) I had big plans for this one, but I've decided to face the fact that it is what it is: a tale of two ships. One is lovely and healthy, and the other... not so much.
> 
> Also, please note the tags regarding homophobia and homophobic language. Holly does use some light homophobic language and there is a mention of internalized homophobia on Richard's part. It's not a major component of the story, and if you're familiar with _Slings & Arrows_, you'll note that Richard is canonically bisexual, so he's visibly uncomfortable about Holly's words. But, because he's Richard, he never says anything outright against Holly at this point in the series. (Just remember: Holly is the devil.)

Ray had their first night in Toronto all planned out. The bad guys had kept them in Chicago a week too long, but they were finally here. They’d just checked into a beautiful hotel room with a king-sized bed that Ray really didn’t think should be going to waste, since vacation sex was the best sex, so he was stretched out on top of Fraser, kissing him senseless.

Or trying to. Unfortunately, Fraser kept trying to talk.

“Ray... Ray... Ray... _Ray_.”

He was starting to sound a bit desperate and not in the sexy way, so Ray dragged himself away from Fraser’s lips, leaving a wet trail all the way to his ear. “What?”

“We’ll miss our dinner reservation.”

Ray pulled back, shrugged. “So?”

“Well, if we miss it, we may not, in fact, get to eat dinner.”

“Fraser, this isn’t like that time I missed the caribou because my glasses were stuck in the lining of my parka, okay?” Committed as always to yanking Fraser’s chain, Ray leaned past him, pinning him to the mattress, and picked up the bedside phone. “In fact, this piece of technology here can bring food to _us_ whenever we want it. No rifles required. Clothing optional.”

“I’m well aware of that,” Fraser answered blandly. “I only meant that the establishment may get overcrowded, given the high volume of diners at this hour.”

Ray heaved himself up off the bed and gave an exaggerated sigh. “Fine, let’s go to dinner.”

“Thank you, Ray.” Fraser stood and smoothed down his hair. Ray loved that the rest of the world never got to see him all rumpled. “I’ve heard wonderful things about this restaurant’s selection of seafood,” Fraser added, straightening his clothes.

Ray felt his face scrunch up. “Like, from the lake they call Ontario? Because if it’s anything like Michigan, I don’t know if I want to be sampling their trout.”

“No trout, I assure you.” Fraser gave him a small smile and picked up his dark gray suit jacket. From its pocket, he pulled out a tie in the same shade of burgundy as his shirt and started to knot it under his collar. “Are you ready to go?”

Ray glanced down and realized that that had to have been a rhetorical question. He was still wearing the clothes he’d put on in Chicago that morning. Compared to Fraser in a suit, he looked like a hobo in his faded Bulls t-shirt and jeans. He pulled his garment bag from the closet where Fraser had neatly stowed it the second they arrived, and started to get changed.

“Explain to me why I have to dress up again?” he called from the other side of the closet door.

“I told you, it’s a surprise.”

Ray finished buttoning up his navy shirt and got started on his own tie — also navy. “Better be good. I hate ties,” he grumbled.

“I know,” Fraser replied absently.

Ray swung the closet door shut. The noise brought Fraser’s head up from his cell phone. He smiled, but his eyes were still startled.

“Everything okay?” Ray asked, shrugging into his black blazer.

“Oh, yes,” Fraser replied quickly. “Perfect. Shall we?” He hurried past Ray and out the door.

Ray stared after him for a second, then fiddled with his hair in the mirror and followed.

* * *

Richard had to hand it to Holly: a trip to Toronto was indeed much better than staying in bed. She had everything planned for their night, starting with a quick but wonderfully effective blowjob in his hotel room that still sent chills down his spine if he thought about it too much. She’d taken him shopping, as well, and promised him a fabulous meal before they headed to the Royal Alexandra for _Mamma Mia_.

“They have great seafood here,” she raved as they got out of the cab in front of the restaurant. “You wouldn’t think so, what with there being no water nearby.”

“You mean besides the lake?”

“I mean _real_ water, honey.”

Richard nodded like he wasn’t confused. “Of course.”

The hostess led them to a table near a large fish tank. The blue water brought out Holly’s eyes and the light made her jewelry sparkle. Richard smiled, she smiled back, and he couldn’t help himself. He seized her hand and pulled her up while leaning in. He pressed his lips against hers, but she jerked back an instant later. Her eyes were wide and startled for a second before they went just a little icy, and she gave him a thin smile.

“Oh, Richard. You are so sweet. But I asked you not to do that, remember?”

He frowned. “I thought that was just for New Burbage, what with you being the corporate—”

“No, that was for everywhere.” Holly picked up the menu and opened it.

Richard watched the fish, thinking about Holly’s peculiarities. He should have known better; after all, Holly had told him on their first date that she didn’t really like to be kissed. Which, Richard reminded himself, wasn’t that weird. He tried to shake it off; no reason one small faux pas should ruin their evening.

Then he caught sight of who was sitting at the table to their right.

Richard could handle the board going over his head and appointing an Interim Artistic Director who had spent time in a mental institution and who’d proved that the second he stepped up to the podium at Oliver’s funeral. Richard could handle an artistic committee meeting at which said former mental patient refused to direct the flagship production starring an American movie star who was costing the Festival a fortune. Richard could even handle him calling Darren Nichols’ _Titus Andronicus_ ‘shit’ even though it had sold better than any of the other dense, difficult plays the board always insisted on.

What Richard could not handle was Geoffrey Tennant, sitting calmly in a restaurant in Toronto, one table away from him, with his hair cut and neatened, eating escargot with his eyes locked on a man with spiky blonde hair and black-rimmed glasses who seemed to be his boyfriend.

* * *

Ray figured it was only a matter of time before his dick got the message that he turned forty-two last week. Until then, though, he was grateful for tablecloths, especially when Fraser started licking garlic butter off his fingertips.

“I don’t know how you can eat those things,” Ray said to distract his overactive imagination.

“Ray, escargot is a delicacy, not to mention very high in protein.” Fraser reached for another one. “Besides,” he added softly, “you’ve seen me put stranger things in my mouth.”

Ray’s throat went dry. He reached for his water, and looked down at the calamari on his plate. It was good, the place definitely had good seafood, but he didn’t feel like eating it so much as shoving it of the way and shoving Fraser against the nearest wall that wasn’t a fish tank.

The couple at the next table would probably object, though. They were already sending funny looks their way. Ray did his best to ignore them, but the guy — a little weaselly-looking dude in a crispy shirt — was downright staring at Fraser, and it wasn’t the _Hey, look at that hot Canadian_ stare that Ray was used to. This was more of an _I hate that hot Canadian’s guts_ kind of stare. Meanwhile, the chick, dressed like some sort of corporate Barbie, was sneering like somebody had pissed in her wine.

When Ray caught Crispy Shirt staring a third time, he sent him his best _fuck you_ glare in return. As soon as the other man realized Ray was watching him, he at least had enough of a sense of self-preservation that he hunched down in his chair and looked ashamed.

Ray smirked and turned to find Fraser watching him with his eyebrows raised. “If looks could kill, Ray, I’d have to arrest you,” he said mildly.

“That’d kind of ruin our vacation, though, wouldn’t it?” Ray asked, picking up his fork again.

Fraser sighed. “Yes. I’d have to go back to work.” He tilted the tray of slimy things in Ray’s direction. “Escargot?”

Ray shook his head. “You’re a freak.”

* * *

It could have been a coincidence, but the more Geoffrey avoided his glances, the more Richard became convinced it wasn’t coincidental at all. The nerve, thought Richard furiously. He had half a mind to march right over there and tell Geoffrey he wouldn’t have to worry about returning to that job he didn’t want and apparently wasn’t mentally equipped to do.

Richard threw him another dirty look, but Geoffrey didn’t have eyes for anyone in the room other than his boyfriend who—

—was glaring at Richard.

All of Richard’s intentions evaporated under the blonde man’s hard blue eyes. He ducked his head, hoping he could learn how to turn invisible.

Holly, meanwhile, didn’t seem concerned. She set her glass down and drummed her fingers against the stem. “Mmm. California rosé: is there anything better?”

Richard didn’t answer, and she sighed. “I don’t know why you care,” she continued in a quieter voice. “So your director took off to see his boy toy in the city. What’s the big deal?”

Richard chose to ignore the _boy toy_ part, just in case the blonde man had ears like a bat or could read lips. “The big deal is that he’s supposed to be working today,” Richard whispered. “Basil wanted to set up an interview, and there’s the corporate leadership seminar...”

He fell silent and leaned back as the waitress set their entrees on the table.

Richard sighed. “Those look good,” he said, hoping to change the subject and the mood. He reached over to sneak one of Holly’s scallops.

With a blur of motion, she picked up her fork and stabbed the back of his hand. “No work talk at dinner, Richard, remember?” She laughed.

“Ow,” he muttered, rubbing his hand. “Sorry.”

Holly’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Won’t do it again, will you?”

“No,” Richard replied slowly.

Holly’s smile widened. “Just kidding, Richard,” she teased. “Tell me about this corporate seminar thing. Sounds like a money-maker.”

So Richard did, and when they were finished eating, Holly requested two bills before the waitress could even ask if they wanted to look at a dessert menu. Richard had been planning to pay, but he ceded gracefully, not wanting an argument. Minutes later they were heading outside, which was just as well: the longer he looked at Geoffrey looking at his boyfriend like that, the more certain he was that Monday morning was going to be extremely awkward.

Holly hailed a cab and spent the entire trip rubbing Richard’s thigh in an absentminded kind of way. She’d run the heel of her hand upwards and then drag her nails back down toward his knee. It was a nice feeling at first, but by the time they arrived, his skin was stinging.

* * *

Fraser offered to pay, but Ray told him to keep his colorful money, save up for a railroad or utility, and gave the waitress his credit card. The sun was almost setting as they stepped outside and caught a taxi. Fraser made Ray wait on the sidewalk until he’d told the driver the destination. Ray rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.

“This is a nice city,” Ray commented, as the cab started making it way down Toronto’s crowded streets. “Reminds me a lot of Chicago.”

“Yes, they’re quite similar in some respects. Very different in others, however. For instance, Toronto’s homicide rate...”

Ray nodded and made listening noises at the right points during Fraser Story Time, but really he was wondering why they’d come here, of all places, for their first real vacation together. Ray thought Fraser hated Toronto. When the Ice Queen wanted him to transfer here with her, he was a blur he ran away so fast. But last month, he finally started agreeing with Ray that they should take some time off for a real getaway, rather than just a long weekend here and there. Ray told him they could have done a full two weeks, gone up to see Maggie and Quinn in the Northwest Areas, but Fraser said no, they should do a four-day stint in Toronto instead. So Ray said okay, though he still didn’t know why Fraser wanted to.

Then again, Ray didn’t know why Fraser wanted to go back to Chicago after their adventure, either. Ray didn’t think it was because of him. Fraser had to know that Ray would go anywhere he wanted; Ray had followed him to Canada strapped to an airplane wing, after all. But when the spring thaw had made the ice too dangerous to go on, Ray had asked what Fraser wanted to do next, and Fraser’d said they should go back, back to Chicago, to the 2-7, to their regular lives, except that they were _roommates_ now in a two-bedroom apartment. So Ray said okay: anything the Mountie wants, the Mountie gets.

Ray turned his ears back on long enough to hear said Mountie talking about an island with parks and beaches. “Sounds pretty good,” he said.

Fraser seemed happy with that, and off he went again about wildlife and nature reserves within driving distance, sounding like the tourism pamphlet in the hotel lobby. Which he’d probably memorized.

Christ, Ray thought. If he wasn’t with me, I’d tell him he needed a girlfriend.


	2. Chapter 2

Climbing out of the cab, Richard was awed. It’d been years since he’d gone to the Royal Alexandra. He’d forgotten how big the marquee was. Around the theatre, the street seemed alive. Pedestrians hurried down the sidewalk, their breath a white smoke in the bright glare.

Holly hooked an arm around Richard’s waist. “Can’t you just picture lights and posters like this at the Swan?” she asked.

“The Swan has a marquee,” Richard protested, but it was half-hearted. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this vibrancy outside the Swan.

“Not like this. Not with _Mamma Mia_ on it.”

Richard looked over. Holly’s eyes were shining, reflecting hundreds of light bulbs. She looked so hopeful and beautiful, he wanted to lean over and brush his lips against her cheek. He settled for getting closer to her ear instead. “Maybe in a few years it will,” he said softly.

She didn’t pull away, but she didn’t look at him, either. “I’d like that. Come on.”

* * *

Ray got out of the cab first and stood on the sidewalk, staring at the poster above the blinding marquee. The bride was probably supposed to be singing, but she looked to Ray like she was screaming. Meanwhile, Fraser paid the cab driver and came to stand beside him, eyeing him like he was a suspicious package in the Queen’s mail room.

Ray tried to smile. “I, uh. I don’t know what to say. This is quite a surprise.”

Fraser starting rubbing his eyebrow. “I’ll admit it’s an unusual choice of entertainment, Ray, but I assure you, this show has been highly praised. In fact, _The Toronto Star_ called it ‘More concert than musical,’ and I know you have a penchant for —”

“Fraser.”

“—live music. I considered a sporting event of some kind, but the Toronto Tourism Centre advised me that procuring tickets to a Maple Leafs game is next to impossible on short notice unless one resorts to scalpers, which, aside from the obvious ethical and legal implications, is not—”

“Fraser.”

“—terribly feasible, financially speaking. I suppose I could have opted for a more casual outing, dancing possibly, but as you’re no doubt aware by now, dancing is not an art with which I’m overly familiar. Granted, I could have taken lessons, but—”

“Fraser! It’s fine. Stop apologizing.”

He yanked his hand away from his eyebrow, which now looked more than a little frayed. “Right. Sorry.”

Ray rolled his eyes again, and they headed for the door, which Fraser held open for three elderly couples before they could go through it. He passed their tickets to the man in the booth, who told them they had twenty minutes till the doors opened and pointed them towards the balcony level lounge. Fraser thanked him (kindly) while Ray wondered whether he could convince Fraser to have a drink with him.

* * *

Richard followed Holly up to the balcony lounge. It had been renovated since his last visit; the bar had a glassy black countertop now and sleek white stools. Holly ordered them each a glass of imported chardonnay. She handed one to him, then pointed toward a low couch along the side wall, facing the bar.

“So, Mr. Smith-Jones,” she began, pulling Richard’s hand onto her knee. “When’s the last time you went to a show just for fun?”

Richard sipped his wine thoughtfully. “Three years ago?”

Holly said something in reply, but Richard’s attention was sharply drawn back to the lounge entrance. “Oh, for Pete’s sake,” he interrupted, turning his face away, so Geoffrey, or worse, his boyfriend, wouldn’t see him.

Holly blinked once before she smiled thinly. “No need to be rude, Richard.”

“Sorry. Sorry. But...” He gestured to where Geoffrey and his boyfriend were drinking beer at the bar.

Holly glanced over. “Oh, they’re back.” She sipped her wine and gave a little knowing smile. “I’m not surprised. I mean, it _is_ a musical.”

Richard felt a little pang, remembering his father’s stern questions about whether he wanted an earring in high school. “That doesn’t mean anything,” he muttered.

“Sure it doesn’t,” Holly said in an overly sweet tone. “So, tell me about this show you went to three years ago.”

Richard swallowed the hurt, along with more chardonnay before telling her about _The Lion King_. It turned out Holly had seen that show, too, though in the States. Richard found himself tuning her out, watching Geoffrey again. There was something off about him. The way he drank beer, the way he gestured. Everything seemed stiffer, more proper. Less insane.

When the chime sounded, they headed into the theatre, only a few steps behind the Interim Artistic Director and his partner. As they sat down, Richard thought he heard the blonde man call him ‘Ben,’ but he assured himself he must have misheard. The man must have said ‘Tennant.’

But then again, Richard thought, why would he call his romantic partner by his surname?

* * *

To Ray’s surprise, Fraser went straight to the bar and paid for a beer and a ginger ale with a purple bill. Ray sidled up next to him, and Fraser handed him his drink. They clinked, took a sip, and Fraser launched right back into exposition mode.

“You see, Ray, there was a concert on the waterfront last weekend that probably would have been ideal, if for no other reason than it fell on the actual date of your birthday. But with the Heinemann case requiring such rigour, and our plans changing as a result, I was forced to refund the concert tickets and make due with a belated birthday gift.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Ray pushed his glasses higher up on his nose. “You mean this is my birthday present?”

Fraser was doing the Mountie-in-the-headlights thing again. “Yes.”

“Cool,” Ray answered, and Fraser seemed to relax. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. I hope you enjoy it.”

“Am so far.” Ray took a swig of his beer — good, cold Canadian beer — and looked at Fraser over the edge of the glass. He figured now was as good a time as any to ask. “This why you wanted to come to Toronto?”

“Not the only reason, but, essentially yes.”

Ray was pretty sure Fraser didn’t mean to say that, so he niggled. “What were the other reasons?”

Fraser’s eyes widened, and he took a long swallow of his ginger ale.

Bingo, Ray thought. “Ben?”

Fraser cleared his throat and wouldn’t look at Ray, who knew that if he had his uniform on, he’d be tugging at the collar. As it was, Ray could see his fingers twitching, like he was fighting to keep them away from his tie. Ray drank his beer and watched him squirm. He wasn’t that good at waiting, but when Fraser put on a show like this, it was a little easier, like letting a suspect stew.

Finally, Fraser set down his glass, now more empty than Ray’s, and said, “You know, Ray, it’s remarkably difficult to keep secrets from you. You’re something of a Nosy Parker.”

Ray chuckled. “I prefer detective, but okay.” Suddenly, the lights in the room dimmed and there was a sound like a doorbell. “What was that?”

Fraser breathed a sigh of relief and showed Ray his big, stupid grin. “My salvation. And just in time, too.”

He slid down from his stool and finished his drink, waving a hand at Ray to tell him to do that same. Ray did, and Fraser led him into the theatre.

“Good seats,” said Ray.

“You think so?” Fraser tugged at his ear.

“Yeah, I do. Thank you, Ben.”

Ray smiled and waited until Fraser blushed and smiled back before looking away. His good mood dipped a little when he noticed Crispy Shirt and Corporate Barbie sitting in the row ahead, but they weren’t looking at him, so he didn’t look at them.

When the house lights went down, Fraser took Ray’s hand and held it. All right, Ray thought. Let the Mountie keep his secrets. Ray had a play to watch. For his birthday. In Toronto.

Then the music started.

* * *

The music was only the beginning.

Richard had been to musicals before; he’d listened to musical albums; he’d performed in a musical in high school. But nothing would ever compare with _Mamma Mia_.

He turned when Holly tapped his shoulder to find her lips only an inch away from his. He went still and waited. A breath later she closed the gap and kissed him. Her tongue slipped between his lips and everything, from the bass pounding in his chest to the soprano giving him chills to the taste of imported chardonnay, everything was perfect.

* * *

Ray really wanted to leave at the intermission, but he didn’t want to hurt Fraser’s feelings. So he stuck it out by fantasizing about the backdrop falling forward and crushing the chick with the really high-pitched voice. As soon as the curtains closed he was gone, swerving around the little old ladies that Fraser, being Fraser, was helping down the aisle. When he got to the street, Ray lit a cigarette and tried not to listen to everyone around him talking about how much they enjoyed those two and a half hours of his life that he was never going to get back.

“Yes!” cried Crispy Shirt, bursting out of the theatre into the street.

“Fantastic!” shouted Corporate Barbie, stumbling out behind him.

“Crap,” Ray muttered. He turned away and raised the collar of his leather jacket.

“That was fantastic!” Crispy Shirt continued, still being way too loud for Ray’s recently assaulted eardrums. “Oh my god. Man, the dancing and the singing! I understood every word!”

“I know! I swear to God it gets better every time!”

At least they have a lot in common, Ray thought. He spat on the sidewalk.

“Thank you!” Crispy Shirt was yelling at his girlfriend. “This just goes to show, you got to keep things in perspective. You know, I saw _Chorus Line_ when I was sixteen on Broadway. I— I was blown away, you know? I cried.”

“I love that show,” Barbie declared.

“That’s what made me want to get into theatre! I used to listen to all those albums,” Crispy Shirt was saying. “ _Dang Yankees_ , _Kiss Me, Kate_. My parents thought I was _gay_!”

“Huh,” said Ray, stubbing out his cigarette against the brick wall.

“Come on, let’s go for a drink,” suggested Corporate Barbie, and away they went.

A few minutes later, Fraser appeared. When he caught sight of Ray, Ray turned and headed down the street. He heard Fraser’s boots on the pavement as he chased after him, then came the steady stream of “Ray, Ray, Ray,” that Ray managed to ignore for most of an entire block. At the corner, though, he had to stop and wait for the light, so Fraser caught up with him.

“I’m sorry, Ray. Really, I didn’t expect it would be that bad.”

Ray wasn’t ready to talk to him yet, so he yanked his cigarettes from his jacket pocket again.

“Ray, please, don’t punish your lungs because I made a mistake.”

Ray glared at him over his cupped hands as he lit up. The light changed, and he kept walking.

Beside him, Fraser fanned smoke out of his face. “I should have consulted you first. But you told me you liked ABBA, so—”

That stopped Ray. He turned and pointed at Fraser with his cigarette, and Fraser’s explanation sputtered and died. “When? Fraser, the only time I remember saying I liked ABBA was in 1976. I didn’t know you then. And even if I did, I still didn’t like ABBA.”

“Then why would you say that you did?”

“Take a wild guess.”

Fraser thought for a second, staring at Ray’s cigarette. “Stella?”

“Mm,” Ray said as he inhaled. He exhaled out the side of his mouth so his smoke wouldn’t go in Fraser’s face. “She was going through this— this thing, a, what do you do call it, an obsession, a phase, a—”

“A fad?”

“Yeah, a fad.” Ray shrugged. “I went along with it for about six months.”

“Then what happened?”

“My balls dropped,” Ray said shortly. He whirled around and started walking, smug that he’d stunned Fraser into silence. He’d taken several long strides before Ray heard him start moving again.

“But Ray,” Fraser protested when he caught up with him. “When we were chasing Muldoon, you said you liked ABBA. I’m sure you said you liked ABBA when we were stuck in that crevasse.”

And that was when Ray forgave him, really, because that conversation in the crevasse was still pretty close to his heart, even after almost five years.

He wasn’t ready to let Fraser out of the doghouse just yet, though. He put his cigarette between his lips so he couldn’t smile. “What did I say in the crevasse, Fraser? What were my exact words?”

Fraser glanced up at the sky, like he could see them written in the lack of stars. “You said that when you faced death, you sang ABBA.”

Ray took a last, long drag and ground his smoke out under his boot. “Okay, two things. One, I was half-frozen and more than half-crazy that day. In case you forgot, we’d just climbed a mountain. After you threw me out of a plane.”

A pedestrian in a Leafs toque turned and stared when Ray said that, but Ray glared till the man had walked on.

“And B, just because a guy sings ABBA when he’s facing death does not mean he wants to come up to Toronto for his birthday to see some musical about a chick getting married in Italy.”

“Greece.”

“Whatever,” Ray said, trying to sound mad, but he couldn’t keep it up anymore: he was grinning like an idiot and fighting back a laugh. “It was a nice thought. I guess. Just don’t do it again, okay, and we’ll be fine.”

Fraser nodded gravely. “Understood, Ray.” Then he gave Ray the look he usually saves for the first snowfall, and Ray would have kissed him if they weren’t in the middle of the street. 

Instead, he jerked his head toward the light, where the little walking dude had just been replaced by an orange flashing hand. “We crossing or what?”

“I don’t know.” Fraser glanced around, and for a second Ray thought he was going to lick his finger and stand there like one of those ugly metal roosters his mom put on the roof of the camper. “Do you want to go back to hotel?”

Ray shook his head. “No. It’s still early, and I got fucking ABBA running through my brain. Let’s find something fun to do.”


	3. Chapter 3

Somewhere in the middle of their second round, Richard realized he was just watching Holly drink — the smooth motion of her throat as she swallowed, the bounce of her hair when she tilted her head back, the way her lips closed around the rim of the glass. Everything about her was intoxicating.

“Richard. Did you hear what I said?”

Richard shook his head to clear it. “I’m sorry?”

Holly let out a little sigh of exasperation that Richard found endearing. She pointed behind him. “I said, I don’t think that’s Geoffrey Tennant.”

He turned and looked. The couple was lingering just inside the entrance, scanning the room. At the sight of them, Richard felt a burst of annoyance, followed by a wave of courage. He set his glass down with a thud and got to his feet. “I’m going to go say hello.”

“Richard!”

Holly sounded angry, but he was pretty sure she was about to laugh. He winked at her, then walked up to Geoffrey and pointedly ignored his boyfriend’s glare. “Hello, Geoffrey,” he said in his most professional voice.

Geoffrey was smiling bemusedly. “I beg your pardon?”

“What are you doing here? Why aren’t you in New Burbage?”

The two men shared a glance before Geoffrey spoke again. “I believe it’s possible you’ve mistaken me for someone else, Sir.”

“Yeah, this here’s Benton Fraser, RCMP,” the blonde man put in. “Now why don’t you amscray before he nails you with a punk in drublic.”

“Ray,” Not-Geoffrey scolded. “I can’t arrest him if he’s in a private establishment.”

“Could if somebody calls the cops. If he’s causing a disturbance.”

“In theory, certainly. But—”

“He’s disturbing me, maybe I should call you.”

“You know what? I apologize. My mistake,” Richard interjected, since clearly these two could go all night.

He wandered back to his table and said the three words Holly loved hearing: “You were right.”

“I was?” she asked, though she really didn’t look all that surprised. She never did.

“Yeah. Guy must have a brother. A very polite cop brother.”

“He’s a cop? That’s... bold.”

Richard ignored her comment and the sick feeling it evoked in his chest. He decided to bring up something he knew would distract her. “Geoffrey’s not capable of being that polite. You should have heard him when I asked him to do Oliver’s _Hamlet_.”

“Ugh,” Holly replied, gulping down the last mouthful of her drink. “ _Hamlet_. Why would anyone want to do _Hamlet_ when we could do a musical instead?” She stood. “I have to use the restroom, but when I get back, we’re going to talk more about this, got it?”

Richard nodded. He searched the room with his eyes, but he was relieved to find that Not-Geoffrey and the blonde man had disappeared. He didn’t need any reminders of Shakespearean actors and their antics tonight.

* * *

After poking their head into a few places — and telling off Crispy Shirt in one, that was Ray’s favourite part — they ended up in a dingy little sports bar, side by side at one of those tiny tables that weren’t really big enough for more than two bottles, watching hockey on the CBC. It would have been more fun if Chicago wasn’t down 3-zip to Calgary by the end of the first, but Fraser bought the beer, and it was loud enough that Ray couldn’t hear the annoying melody in his head anymore, so as far as he was concerned, it was greatness.

“I think I like Toronto,” Ray announced when the game went to first intermission.

“I was hoping you would,” Fraser answered. “Our last visit was—”

“Boring?”

“Work-related. And brief.” He yawned suddenly. “Pardon me,” he said from behind his hand.

“We can go.” Ray nodded at the game, or where the game would be playing if it weren’t for all the Tim Hortons and Canadian Tire commercials. “We’re probably going to lose this anyway. I don’t need to see that.”

Fraser gave Ray a funny look. “Speak for yourself. I’m rooting for Calgary.”

Ray snorted. “You would.”

During the second period, Chicago fought off Iginla’s attacks long enough to make it 3-2, and when another Tim’s commercial started up, Ray suggested another round. He expected Fraser to refuse, but he headed to the bar right away. Ray supposed he was still feeling pretty guilty. Between The Worst Birthday Date Ever and his team looking like they’d beat Ray’s, he probably figured Ray could use another drink. 

Then Fraser brought back a beer for himself, too, and Ray had to pick his jaw up off the floor. 

“What’s the occasion?” Ray asked, but the game was back on, and Fraser didn’t answer.

When the second intermission started a few minutes later, Fraser said over the noise of the bar, “You know, Ray, I’ve been wanting to take a vacation together as long as you have.”

That brought Ray’s eyes away from the TV. “Really?”

“Yes.” Fraser shifted in his seat, leaned closer. Ray did the same. “Going back to Chicago after our expedition wasn’t easy, not after being home for so long. That first summer, when you suggested a trip North,” Fraser shook his head. “I just couldn’t. I didn’t want to come to Canada unless it was to stay.”

“You know I would’ve, right?” It was suddenly really important for Ray that Fraser knew that. “I did tell you that, didn’t I? Because I meant to.”

Fraser smiled, but Ray thought it looked kind of sad. “You told me. Many times. In fact, you asked me to teach you how to say it in Inuktitut.”

Ray stared at him. “I don’t remember that.”

“You were blithering. In case you forgot,” Fraser added, his voice an echo of Ray’s earlier tone, “we were climbing a mountain. After I threw you out of a plane.”

“Huh. Guess I’ll have to trust you on that one.” Ray drank some beer, suddenly apprehensive. “So why now? What changed?”

Fraser set his glass down carefully and gripped Ray’s arm. “Ray,” he said.

Ray waited, but there didn’t seem to be any follow-up. His heart was hammering in his chest. “What?”

Fraser released him and reached for his beer. Ray’s eyes widened as he drank the rest of it in one go. When he set the empty glass down again, he was grinning sheepishly. “This was supposed to be easier, you know. I did have a plan.”

Ray tried to think about last week, when Fraser’s plan involved tracking a gunrunner via rotten tomato residue (and it actually worked), rather than whatever it was that was supposed to be easier. Meanwhile, Fraser was running the gamut of his nervous tics: eyebrow, ear, collar, other eyebrow, lip.

“Just spit it out, Frase,” Ray said quietly after a minute. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be worse than waiting for it.

Fraser took a deep breath. “I was offered a job here. Three weeks ago.”

He kept talking, something about liaising between the Mounties and the Toronto Police, but Ray was stuck on the _three weeks ago_ part, remembering the day Fraser came home from the Consulate with a headache and the next morning said to him at breakfast, _Maybe we should go away, Ray. Perhaps we could visit Toronto_ and blah blah blah architecture.

Something big fell out of Ray’s chest. He should’ve listened better, should’ve seen it. But he didn’t, and now he was getting t-boned on a left turn when he thought there was nothing coming. Again.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” Fraser was saying. “But the position doesn’t start until January. I wanted to take advantage of the time to reflect.”

“Uh huh,” Ray mumbled. It seemed so clear now. A weekend getaway for his birthday? More like one last kick at the can before _Sayonara Ray, it’s been a fun four years and all, but I need space and trees and snowballs_. “I thought you hated Toronto.”

“I’ll admit I’m not overly fond of the city. Or Ontario, really. I think, if I’m perfectly honest, I’d rather stay in Chicago. But I’d like to take the job, Ray. If you’ll come with me.”

“Oh.” Ray went kind of tingly all over. “Oh, I thought—”

Fraser peered at him with worried eyes. “Ray, you didn’t—?”

“What? No,” Ray said quickly, almost laughing in pure relief. “No, I... No. No.”

“I wouldn’t do that, Ray, I wouldn’t bring you here to tell you that I’m staying and you’re not. In fact, that’s the opposite of—”

“I know, Fraser, I know.”

“Though I can see now how you might get that impression. I haven’t been clear enough, and, for that, I apologize. What I wanted to ask was—”

“It’s just, I get it if you’re homesick—”

“Ray, would you like to get married?”

“—and... what?”

“Married. Would you like to get married? To me.”

Ray’s mouth opened and closed several times. “That’s... not possible,” he said at last.

Fraser winced, and then nodded grimly. “I understand. Given the choice, I can’t imagine that I’d choose myself as a—”

“No! That— that’s not what I meant.” Ray ran a hand through his hair. “I meant legally.”

“Ah. Actually, Ray,” Fraser began, somehow managing to look relieved and superior at the same time, “on June 10th of this year, Ontario became the third jurisdiction in the world to legalize same-sex marriage.” His face darkened a little. “It wouldn’t be recognized in Chicago. Or anywhere else on the continent, for that matter.”

A cheer erupted from one corner of the bar. Vaguely, Ray wondered if they were Hawks or Flames fans.

“But here,” Fraser went on, “you’d have legal status as my partner.”

Ray stared at the TV. It was still on commercial. “Meaning?”

Fraser touched Ray’s arm again, drawing his eyes back. “Meaning that the immigration process would be easier. You would obtain permanent resident status, which would open doors for you in terms of job opportunities. It would also make pursuing citizenship easier, should you wish to do that. And you would share my benefits. My assets. My... life.”

Immigration. Assets. Citizenship. (Why would Ray want to be Canadian?) Job opportunities. Benefits. Status. Life. Permanent. Partners.

Ray looked into Fraser’s anxious face and thought about the day he told his parents he was going to propose to Stella. They were thrilled that he wanted to settle down, never mind the fact that he was 19 and didn’t know a damn thing about settled. When he dropped out of college and went to the academy, his dad lectured him every day about how it was no job for a family man, how cops’ kids grow up without fathers all the time. Ray was so careful those first few years, but once it started looking like the kids wouldn’t get born, let alone orphaned, Ray got stupid, and the CPD called it bravery. After Stella left, he figured better shot in the line of duty than retire with no wife or kids to look after him. Then, Fraser...

That was it, wasn’t it? Then Fraser. There wasn’t anything after that part. He said he wasn’t going anywhere without Ray, and Ray had been ready to stay with him in Canada, the much colder, crappier part of Canada, four years ago. Not much had changed since then. His knees were a little more tender, maybe; he pretty much wore his glasses all the time now, though he told himself that was because Fraser liked them so much. And he had a few more grey hairs, but that was between him and his stylist. His feelings were no different for being four years older.

“All right,” Ray said at last.

“All right?”

“Yeah. I mean, yes.” Ray took another swig of his beer, then reached for Fraser’s hand. It was warm and sweaty, so he gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Did you get me a diamond?”

Ray could see Fraser blush even in the dim light. “Ah, no.”

Ray faked an exasperated sigh. “Oh, well. Want to go back to the hotel and consolidate this thing?”

“Consummate, you mean?”

Fraser licked his lips, and Ray lost all interest in terminology. “Uh, sure. Yeah. That.”

They left their drinks unfinished on the table.


	4. Chapter 4

“Let’s go back to my condo. I’m going to blow your mind.”

Richard didn’t know what he was expecting when he said “Okay,” but getting manhandled in the elevator hadn’t crossed his mind as a possibility.

As soon as the doors closed behind them, Holly was on him, loosening his tie, unbuttoning his shirt, undoing his belt, and pulling his glasses off so fast they got caught, hurting the back of his ears. Richard found himself dishevelled in about three seconds flat.

“Holly—” he tried to say, but she was talking constantly, complaining about his suit, his hair, his glasses. Richard took her wrists in his hands. “Holly, please. Can we wait till we get upstairs?” He tried to laugh as he said it, so she wasn’t insulted.

“I’m just getting us started, Richard.”

She pulled his hands up under her blouse and bra, where her nipples were stiff against his splayed fingers, then she started rubbing the front of his pants with both hands, humming with appreciation when he started to harden in earnest.

“You a breast man, Richard?” She leaned forward and licked his neck and ear. “Of course, what I am saying, every man’s a breast man.”

Richard’s head was swimming; he didn’t trust himself to speak. Holly glanced over at the climbing numbers and abruptly pulled his hands away and neatened his appearance. He tried to kiss her as she did, but she turned her face to the side, and his lips met her cheek sloppily. 

When they reached her floor a moment later, Richard slipped his hand behind Holly to lead her out, but she went rigid, so he pulled away and instead followed her down the hall. She unlocked the door and held it open for him, smacking his backside as he squeezed past her.

As the door swung closed behind them, Holly yanked Richard backwards till he was pressing her against a wall. Her nails scratched his hand as she took it and guided it up her satiny skirt and down into her panties. She closed her eyes and slumped back against the wall when his fingers brushed her skin.

Richard wished that she would take her clothes off, but when he tried to maneuver their joined hands to do so, she tightened her grip and held him in place. The command implicit in that firm touch heated his blood, and he pressed his body against hers. His dick was now achingly hard in his suit pants, so when she shoved him away a moment later and said, “Bed,” he went, tripping over his feet and grabbing at the mattress for balance.

She pushed him down until he was flat on his back and undid his fly, working his pants down over his hips. He reached for the back of Holly’s skirt, but she batted his hands away and removed her panties, then climbed on top of him.

“Don’t you want—” he began, but then he was inside her and lost his words.

Holly kept hers, talking and talking, about the theatre, about renovations, about money, about gift shops, about musicals. Her voice drifted around him, and the part of his brain that wasn’t drunk with pleasure wondered if there would be a test later.

* * *

Ray survived the cab ride. He managed to cross the lobby of the hotel. He even choked out a polite “Goodnight” in response to the clerk. But the elevator was too much. For both of them.

Ray followed Fraser in and crowded him against the side of the car. His lips had barely brushed Fraser’s, though, and Fraser was pushing him away, turning them so Ray’s back was pressing against the metal bar instead. He braced himself with one arm beside Ray’s head, sliding his hand down and around to firmly grab his ass. He leaned close enough that Ray could count his eyelashes if he wanted to, and he stayed there, not kissing, not moving, barely even breathing. Ray’s breath was ragged with want; he was tempted to push back, just to see if Fraser would pin him down, hold him tighter.

He never got a chance, though, because the doors opened on their floor just then. Fraser threw a quick glance into the empty hall then pressed his lips hard to Ray’s, just for a second, and let him go, throwing his arm out to stop the doors from closing.

Ray’s legs were shaking a little as he followed Fraser down the hall. When he stopped in front of our door and fished in his pocket for the key, Ray crowded up behind him, licking the back of his ear.

“Benton Fraser, you’re a fucking tease,” Ray whispered. He wanted to say more, get some payback, but Fraser got the door open surprisingly fast and had him pressed against the back of it even faster.

“Patience is a virtue, Ray,” he breathed, and he slid his hand down to where Ray’s jeans were getting awfully tight. “Good things come to those who wait.”

Then he kissed Ray — finally! — deep and dirty the way Ray liked it, the way they’d left it before dinner. Ray hooked one thumb in Fraser’s belt loop, pulled him closer and used his other hand to undo Fraser’s fly.

Or he would have, if Fraser hadn’t lifted his hand away and pulled back.

Ray let out a little noise of frustration — he’d really wanted to touch Fraser, to squeeze and stroke till he could lick his come like garlic butter off his fingers — but Fraser tugged him forward and spun them, walking Ray backward till the back of his legs hit the bed. Ray started to climb up, but Fraser put his hands on his thighs and held him in place. Then he knelt between Ray’s legs and rubbed his cheek against his groin. Ray thought he was going to need new jeans if Fraser kept this up.

Maybe Ray said that out loud, or maybe Fraser read his mind, but in about three seconds flat, Ray’s fly was open, his pants were tugged down over his hips, and his dick was in Fraser’s mouth. It was as hot and wet and tight as ever, and Ray couldn’t help moaning when Fraser fluttered his tongue and circled the tip before taking him deep. Just like that, Ray was on the edge, 0 to 60 on a straightaway, trying not to thrust up because he didn’t want it to end, but Fraser’s mouth was like an ice storm: if it was coming, it was coming on strong.

The pleasure knifed through him, quick and bright. Fraser swallowed around him, then ran his hands up and down Ray’s thighs as his tongue did the same to his shaft, root to tip, so gently, as Ray twitched and fought for breath. He reached down, brushing his fingers into Fraser’s hair, and Fraser raised his head. His lips were shiny.

“Lie back,” he murmured, leaning his face into Ray’s palm.

“Only if you come with me,” Ray replied.

Fraser stared at Ray like he was dumbfounded for a second, then smiled. Ray stood up when Fraser did, pulling off their clothes as Fraser dug in the suitcase for the lubricant. It took him a while to find it, mainly because Ray was getting some revenge and licking various body parts whenever he felt like it, but once Fraser had the lube in his hand, Ray lay back on the bed and let Fraser’s warm weight settle above him.

He put his mouth on Ray’s neck, near his shoulder, creating shivers that distracted Ray while he ran his hands over Fraser’s chest and down to give his cock that gentle twisting stroke Ray knew he liked. Fraser broke away from Ray’s neck with a final, almost-too-hard bite and a moan that would have got Ray going if he could will his dick to get back up so soon.

“How do you want me?” Fraser started to ask, but Ray lifted his legs up and wrapped them around him, which pretty much made the question unimportant. Fraser reached for the bottle, and Ray closed his eyes again. His breath caught in his throat when Fraser inserted his fingers a second later. Ray felt his body tense, then relax as Fraser finger-fucked him for long minutes. Ray had just started to wonder if Fraser was teasing himself when he pulled back his hand to slick up his erection, then entered him, inch by inch.

“Ray, I love you,” Fraser breathed. “I love this, I love us, I—”

Ray licked his fingers and touched Fraser’s ears, his lips, his nipples, and Fraser broke off his sentence with a moan. “Me, too,” Ray said.

Fraser pulled back, a long, slow slide, and pushed in a little harder, a little faster. Ray’s dick was starting to take an interest as Fraser started to move inside him, nudging Ray’s prostate with every thrust. Ray shifted slightly to get a better angle, and was rewarded with a sharp jolt of pleasure. He took himself in hand, just to see what would happen.

What happened was Fraser had his own 0 to 60 moment. One minute he was moving steadily and watching, following Ray’s hand with his eyes, and the next he was pulling back farther, driving in deeper, harder, faster. Not that Ray minded: his cock went from half-hard to diamond in about the same amount of time, leaking and sliding against Fraser’s firm stomach in a streak of delicious friction. As soon as Fraser started saying Ray’s name in that desperate sex-filled voice that nobody else ever got to hear, Ray was done. There was nothing in the world but Fraser, hard and hot inside him, making him come from the inside out, not as intense as the first time but lasting longer, cresting and falling in time with Fraser’s increasingly ragged thrusts.

When he could open his eyes, Ray saw Fraser’s were closed. Ray raised his sticky hands, held Fraser up, felt his body tense under his fingers, then all at once release as Ray felt Fraser come deep inside him.

Ray watched through a haze as the tight lines disappeared from Fraser’s face; his arms were trembling on either side of Ray, his damp hair curled around his ears, and sweat ran down his chest. Ray loved this part, when Fraser was unselfconsciously beautiful, flustered and sweaty, always looking a little surprised, like he’d forgotten it was possible to feel that good.

“Good lord, Ray,” Fraser mumbled a moment later without opening his eyes.

Ray nodded, though he knew Fraser couldn’t see it. “Needed that, huh.”

“Evidently.” Fraser pulled out slowly, then all but collapsed on his back beside Ray. They hadn’t bothered to pull the covers down or even turn the lights off, but neither of them seemed capable of moving for the time being, and Ray was okay with that.

* * *

Richard settled facedown into the bed, his arm thrown possessively over Holly’s chest and his head cushioned beside her shoulder. Despite the fact that he was still fully dressed, Richard felt comfortable, dreamy and drifting in and out of consciousness with Holly’s faint perfume all around him and her hair brushing his cheek.

He wasn’t sure how long he dozed there beside her, but eventually he became aware that she was moving under his arm, squirming like she was trying to get free. He immediately sat up and watched as she writhed out of her bra without taking off her blouse. She sighed in relief once it was off, tossing the bra in a perfect arc. It landed soundlessly in the laundry basket on the other side of the room.

“Do you feel better now?” Richard asked with some amusement.

“You have no idea, Richard. Men should have to wear bras once in a while, then you’d understand what we go through every day.”

As she began pulling off her jewelry, Richard slid a hand up her stomach and slipped his fingers into the gap between buttons. Her skin was soft but electrifying, like a static charge, against his. Suddenly overcome, he moved his head down and licked into the gap where his fingers had just been. He started pulling at the buttons with his teeth.

“You know, we haven’t been naked yet,” Richard said in what he hoped was his sexy voice.

She went very still for a moment, her earrings clutched in her hand. Then she set them on the night stand and reached down to cup Richard’s face. He had a flash of her eyes — determined and fierce — before she kissed him, her mouth firm and closed against his. He leaned in and slid a hand into her hair as he licked against her lips, trying to deepen the kiss, but she was pulling back, sitting up under him.

“You should probably go.” Her voice sounded almost sad.

Richard furrowed his brow. “Go? I thought we could—”

She swung her legs to the side of the bed and stood with her back turned. “You’re really very sweet, Richard,” she said, now sounding more like herself. “But with the Festival...”

Richard got to his feet as well and hitched up his pants. “What about the Festival? You mean your plans?”

She spun suddenly to face him, and Richard had the bizarre sense that she’d put on a mask. “Yes,” she replied firmly and slithered against his body. “Once the changes are in place, then you and me, we’ll make it official.”

Richard felt a grin creep across his face. “Really?”

She licked his neck. “I promise. I really like you, Richard,” she breathed in his ear. Her hands eased down his back. He felt her pinch his butt, then she was moving toward the door.

“Will I see you tomorrow? Or, I guess, later today?” Richard asked, half in a daze.

“You bet. Goodnight, Richard.”

For once, she didn’t turn her head when he tried to kiss her goodnight.

* * *

After cleaning up and trading the overhead light for a dim lamp, Ray stared at the ceiling a while, still enjoying that dopey after-sex feeling. Brain chemicals, he thought. Better than street drugs and a hell of a lot cheaper. He rolled his head to the side to ask Fraser the names of the brain chemicals that he was feeling, since he always forgot them, but Fraser seemed to be asleep already. His whole body was relaxed in a way that Ray never got tired of seeing, of causing, but a minute later, he spoke.

“I was hoping we could look at rings tomorrow.”

Ray blinked at the ceiling, processing that statement. There was something to it, something big. He could practically hear his brain working as the pieces started to fall into place.

“Four days,” he said suddenly. Fraser had insisted on spending four days in Toronto.

“I’m sorry?” asked Fraser.

“You sneaky bastard. You weren’t kidding about keeping secrets, were you?”

He sat up and peered down into Fraser’s face, which, as Ray watched, went from somewhat startled to politely confused. “I beg your pardon?”

But Ray didn’t buy the dumb Mountie act for a second. “You want to go to the courthouse on Monday. You probably called ahead, didn’t you? Proper preparation and all that. Who you got lined up to be a witness? Is Maggie flying in?”

The innocent look disappeared, and Ray thought Fraser looked pretty damn pleased with himself. “Nice work, Detective. You caught me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ray mumbled, and he leaned down for a long, sleepy kiss.  

Eventually, Fraser rolled on to his side and turned out the lamp. Ray spooned up behind him, breathing in the sweaty, sex-y smell of Fraser’s hair. He thought about everything that had brought him to this moment. From a bank to Stella to the academy to Stella again to a shield to a divorce to a crazy Mountie partner to a reaching-out hand in the Arctic to a crazy Mountie lover to a surprise wedding to settling down in Toronto, Ontario, Canada.

Life’s just fucking nuts, Ray thought, as sleep started to wash over him.


	5. Coda

Richard was dozing off in his hotel room bed when he remembered his cell phone, still in his jacket pocket, still turned off. After some intense internal debate, he got up and found it. He switched it on, set it on the night stand, and got back into bed. But he’d no sooner closed his eyes when the phone chimed and vibrated, buzzing against the wood. Richard picked it up and squinted at the small bright screen. It took him a moment to register that he was seeing three voicemail notifications. He sat up, turned the lamp on, and listened.

“Hi, Richard, it’s Anna. I just wanted to let you know that I stopped into the corporate seminar this afternoon, and Geoffrey was... Well, he was pretty great, to be honest. I know that the board upset you, and I know that he’s a little eccentric, but Richard, I think the theatre can really benefit from him. And I think this’ll be good for him, too. He already seems a little more... or maybe a little less... Well, anyway. Hope you’re having a nice time in Toronto. I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Hm,” said Richard. That was too bad. But then again, Anna always saw the best in people. He pressed the button to delete the first message and waited for the second to start. 

“Richard!” Darren Nichols’ irate, slightly slurred voice leapt out of the speaker, and Richard pulled it away from his ear. “You obnoxious, bean-counting penis! I’ve been stabbed! I could be facing jail time here, so I get one phone call, and you can’t even be bothered to pick it up? Well, fuck you, Richard, and fuck New Burbage!”

“That... can’t be good,” Richard murmured. He saved the message and waited with some trepidation to hear the last. 

“Hello, Mr. Smith-Jones, this is Officer Radley with the New Burbage Police Department. I’m calling to inform you of an incident involving Geoffrey Tennant and several of the Festival’s actors....”

**Author's Note:**

> When I started to consider the possibility of Ray and Fraser being in Toronto during the events of "The Madness in Great Ones," I realized that the episode aired in November, 2003, which was, incidentally, the same year that same-sex marriage was legalized in Ontario, Canada. Ontario was the first region in North America to do this, and, as an Ontarian, I remember the excitement and pride that came with that knowledge. I just had to share it with a story about my favourite police husbands.


End file.
